


On names

by Lokomotiv



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 19:26:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokomotiv/pseuds/Lokomotiv
Summary: Betty asks Jughead about his name.





	On names

They are lying on her bed, quietly talking about nothing in particular. Jughead only got here maybe half an hour ago, and he’ll soon have to leave to meet curfew. Betty hates that they only have those short moments together, but Jughead won’t let her visit at the group home, so he walks across town after school to spend less than an hour with her at her house or at Pop’s, then walks back to his new home. The foster family he’d stayed with at first had changed their mind after only a couple of weeks, and it hurts Betty to think about how Jughead hadn’t seemed upset, or even surprised. He’d just shrugged, made a dry remark about how it was at least longer than the last two places, then changed the topic. He probably wouldn’t even have told her about the move, Betty guesses, if he hadn’t had to in order to explain why he didn’t want her coming over anymore.

Betty has told him about her day at school, how Archie is doing, about the rest of the gang. He doesn’t really keep in touch with anyone else, she knows, he just doesn’t have time, although he tries to be there for Archie as much as the redhead will let him. Betty knows she has more success in connecting with him than Jughead does these days, and she knows that they are both worried about their redheaded friend, afraid he’s spiralling away somewhere from where he won’t be able to return. The first time she witnessed a conversation between Archie and Jughead after Mr. Andrews was shot, she was shocked at the things Archie was saying (yelling, really), and even more so at the fact that Jughead just quietly took it all without comment or protest. Later, she asked Jughead why he let Archie talk to him like that, why he didn’t defend himself against the ridiculous accusations. _You know there is no way what happened was your fault, right?,_ she’d asked, but Jughead had, as per usual, just shrugged and looked away. _His Dad was shot, I figure he’s owed some slack,_ he’d finally said, after she pressed him for an answer _._ Betty knows things has calmed down a bit between the two boys since then, after escalating to the point of physical violence, but she also knows Jughead never visits Archie anymore during his brief stints to their side of the tracks. She knows that he borrows her cell a couple of times a week and locks himself in her bathroom to call his best friend next door, and that when he comes out he’s always sad and quiet. She knows from her own interactions with Archie that the redhead can still be unpredictably harsh and cruel in a way that he never was before the shooting, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that what she’s exposed to is not even close to the kind of vitriol her boyfriend is subjected to from their friend. She doesn't say anything though, because she doesn’t know what she wants Jughead to do differently, what she would do differently in his place. She just hands him the phone when he asks for it, puts on headphones and turns the volume up on the stereo, and stands watching Archie screaming into his phone through her window.

Jughead tries to give her the impression that he is fine, that he’s okay with his new school, his new home. He makes sure to always tell her something about his day, and Betty knows it’s because he knows she would worry if he refused to talk about himself. Of course, she worries anyway, because what he tells her is so obviously… edited. She doesn't think he's lying _per se_ , but a brief story about how two of the other kids from the home had started a food fight at school that ended with Jughead being the one covered head to toe with food, told in a light voice complete with a soft chuckle at the end, is conspicuously followed by him not showing up for a few days. _Tons of homework_ , he’d explained when he did come by next, nervous and jittery, although he'd tried to hide it. _Nothing, nothing_ , he'd insisted when she asked what had happened, and she'd dropped it because she doesn't want him to stop coming over altogether.

She lies with her head on his shoulder, listening to him quietly telling her about something that happened in school today, a teacher apparently going off on him for not paying attention, or something like that. She’s so focused on how his voice is so carefully amused at what he’s saying that she almost doesn’t register what he _is_ saying.

“So there he was,” he says, and she hears the roundness of laughter in his voice, “at the end of what I’m sure was a first-class telling-off, and I hadn’t even registered that it was meant for me. Talk about wasted effort, poor guy. You should have seen his face when I finally realized, out loud by the way, that he was actually talking to me."

“Wait, you didn’t know he was talking to you?” Betty asks, and feels him shift underneath her head, no doubt frowning down at her in confusion.

“Yeah, that was kind of the whole point. I told you, he said Forsythe, and I genuinely didn’t understand he meant me. I wasn’t really paying attention to begin with, you know. He was right about that."

“Sorry, I spaced out a little,” Betty says, because his voice has gone from light to soft, in that way she knows means he’s hurt or uncertain. She sits up and looks him in the eye. “I’m sorry."

“Yeah, no worries,” he says, looking away, back to his default dry voice which Betty knows is _also_ a mask, just one she’s more used to from him, one she’s better at seeing through. “Not like it was all that interesting a story anyway, I know. Surprised I didn’t put you to sleep really, would’ve fallen asleep myself if I hadn’t been so busy wagging my jaw. Why don’t you tell me more about your day instead? You said you had an English test?"

“Hey now, none of that,” Betty says, a little bit sharper than she’d intended, and his eyes snap to hers, searching. “Don’t put yourself down like that. I want to know about your day, I was just… thinking."

“About what?"

Betty studies him, and wonders if he’s even aware that he is doing it again, directing attention away from himself. She wonders if he’s always been doing it to this extent, if she’s just gotten better at catching him at it now that they spend so much time together, just the two of them, or if he’s doing it more now. If he has more to hide. He’s visibly getting nervous at her continued silence, getting up into a sitting position matching hers. Normally, she would have said something by now, just to make him more comfortable, but it’s like she can’t quite bridge the gap between the thoughts whirling around in her head and what she knows she should say.

“Why do people call you Jughead?” she asks, abruptly.

“Uh, wow, okay that’s random,” Jughead says, shaking his head a little. “But, uh, probably because I answer when they do. Why do you ask?"

“No, I mean, why _Jughead_? I get nicknames, but isn’t yours a little… I don’t know, mean?"

“Ah. Yes, I guess so."

“So why _do_ you answer to it? I mean, you don’t have to let-"

“Hey, I _like_ my name."

“It means _stupid,_ or _foolish_. You’re _not_."

“Debatable, but beside the point. I like it because Jelly gave it to me."

“What?"

“Jellybean couldn’t pronounce Forsythe, so I told her she could pick another name to call me. She picked Jughead, because she’d heard someone say it on tv or some such, and thought it sounded cool. She had no idea what it meant, she genuinely thought it was just a nickname. My Dad picked it up, because apparently it was _hilarious_ , and then everybody else just kind of caught on."

“Oh."

“I started calling her Jellyfish around the same time, which wasn’t as funny apparently, so it quickly morphed into Jellybean, which stuck. Except that now she wants to go by J.B., because it’s ‘way cooler’, and ‘sounds more grown-up'."

Again Betty silently watches her boyfriend. A soft smile plays on his face, and his voice when talking about his sister had been… real. No masks. Suddenly he looks up and meets her eyes.

“Is this what you wanted?"

She nods, amazed both at his insight into her mind, and his willingness to act on it. Even though she hadn’t even articulated it to herself, she realizes that it was _exactly_ what she wanted, to hear something about his life, something _real_ about his life. She’d had the feeling they were slowly drifting apart, but now they have drawn closer again. He pulled them closer together with his story. She hopes he feels the same way.

“I’m glad,” he says, looking away, but the soft look on his face lingers.

“I-“ Betty starts, but her voice is gravelly so she clears her throat and starts over. “I was afraid that it was maybe… some kids, at school. Who started it. And you just accepted it because that’s what you do."

“Some kids at school, huh?"

She looks up at his doubtful tone, and suddenly realizes how hypocritical she’s being.

“Okay, fine. I thought maybe it was your Dad."

He nods, and she thinks she sees a brief look of gratitude in his eyes, that she’s doing her part, contributing to keeping them close.

“Because of all the other shitty things you know he’s said, and done, to me over the years. A reasonable assumption."

They sit in silence for a few seconds, then Jughead gets up.

“I’m sorry, Betty, but I have to-"

“Oh no!” Betty exclaims as she sees the time. “You’re gonna be late!"

“Just a little, it’ll be okay. But I just remembered I have this huge pile of homework-"

“No, don’t,” Betty says tightly. She presses her eyes closed, doesn’t want to see him disappear behind his masks, not after that connection she’d felt between them earlier. “Please don’t to that,” she whispers. After a long moment of silence, she hears him let out a long shaky breath.

“Okay. Yeah, okay. So, um. I’ll be grounded for being late, so I won’t be able to come over for a while, probably the rest of the week. I’m sorry."

Betty opens her eyes. His eyes are averted, and he looks _embarrassed_ of all things. She can’t help but smile a little though, because he didn’t hide, didn’t pull away or put distance between them. She asked him not to, and he _didn’t_.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s my fault. I should have kept better track of the time."

“No, I knew the time."

“What? Why didn’t you-"

“I, uh, I didn’t want to leave us… where we were. Right then. You know?"

“Oh. Yes. _Thank you_. But now you’re going to be grounded for, what, four days? Isn’t that a bit much for being fifteen minutes late?"

“Closer to twenty. And yeah, maybe. But there’s twelve kids in the home, you know? All bad seeds. They kind of have to be, uh, strict with us, I get that. As long as I stay out of trouble, it’s not a problem."

“You’re not a bad seed."

“No, I know. I meant from their perspective."

“What about this weekend?"

“I have chores, as usual, but I’ll try to get them finished in time to come over for a while on Saturday, yeah? But if something else comes up, don’t say no to that, okay? I don’t want you missing out on other things waiting for me to _maybe_ show up. I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise I’ll get done in time. All right?"

“All right."

As Betty stands in the doorway, watching her boyfriend walk away, more briskly than she’d ever seen him walk before, she knows that on Saturday, she will be home waiting and hoping for him so show up. In part because she wants to spend time with him, of course, but also because she can imagine the look on his face if it turned out that she’s not there when he comes over. First he’d nod, thank her mother politely for the information, and then he’d turn away to start the walk back home. He wouldn’t look upset, or even surprised. He’d be a little sad, but also just _accept_ that Betty had chosen something or someone else over him. As though that was the natural order of things, something to be expected and probably inevitable in the long run. As though he’d known it would happen, sooner or later. Imagining that resigned look on his face makes this stubborn little part of her determined to _prove him wrong_ , over and over. She’s looking forward to this Saturday when she'll get to start in on that.


End file.
